


The Devil You Know

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Huddling For Warmth, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-21 13:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: If there was one thing Tim could rely on, it was that Jon would never do what he wanted.





	The Devil You Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winternacht](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/gifts).



> Divergence from 114. Their conversation was largely the same, but Tim hasn't found the location of the Unknowing yet.

The second Tim saw the faded circus poster nailed to the rotting wood of the gate, he knew it was a trap. As he traced the familiar lines, he considered his options. Going back was the sensible choice. The logical choice. Live to fight another day, and all that crap. 

But Tim was running out of time, and he really didn’t care.

He tore the poster down, then slammed his shoulder against the gate. It tore away from the latch with barely a shudder, and Tim proceeded through, squinting into the gloom of the yard. It was a weird place for them to congregate, nothing about theatres or dancers or creepy shit like that. Just a boring old abandoned warehouse and a silent, empty yard. 

As he crept slowly into the yard, ears sharp for snapping twigs or cackling monsters, he kept one hand in his pocket, where he’d tucked the best pocketknife he could get his hands on. It’d probably do fuck all against these monsters, but if he took a little bit of them with him, at least he’d get some satisfaction. But the yard remained stubbornly silent, except for the shuffle of his own footsteps. Which meant he had to go inside.

Gripping the rusted handle of the warehouse door, he gave it a tug, and it slid open with ease. Far too much ease. Someone had greased it, had made sure he’d get inside, that he wouldn’t be discouraged. No use playing like he didn’t know, was there? He pulled the pocket knife out, and flicked it open. 

That was when he saw it. A huge creature, half concealed in shadow. Or at least he thought it was huge, because as his eyes adjusted, he only saw a solitary figure holding out a hand.

“Can I have a cigarette?”

Tim tightened his grip on the knife.

“Sorry, mate. I don’t smoke. Never have. But if you’re interested, I can talk to my boss. He’s relapsed recently, thinks he’s being sneaky. But he’s never been good at it, even with something stupid.”

As he’d expected, the only response was, “Can I have a cigarette?”

So it was the thing from that statement, one of the first ones Jon had recorded. The Anglerfish. Unfortunately, the statement giver had just walked away, and Tim wasn’t about to do that. He needed to get it to talk, to give him something, anything. 

“I think we both know that you’re not just some bloke lurking in a warehouse looking for a smoke. So why don’t we cut out the games. Either tell me where your master is, or just kill me now.” He adjusted the knife as it slipped in his palm, and wiped an arm across his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes. When the hell had it gotten so hot in here? It was summer, sure, but this was more like the Serengeti. 

“Can I have a cigarette?” 

Tim dared another step closer, noticing it hovering above the ground, just that little extra bit of wrong.

“Is it just being nearby that gets me, or do I have to actually fall for it?” It was a different thing than what’d got Sasha, but if they worked the same… “It’s just being nearby, isn’t it? Well then, I’ll just stay over here, won’t I?” Sasha never would’ve fallen for a trick. 

“Can I have a cigarette?”

It was a dead end. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he wiped it away again. Why, though? No way they thought he was stupid enough to fall for this, did they? Did they think he’d, what, just assume it was Danny, run to it with open arms? Be too crazed to hold his revenge for the right moment?

He took a deep breath, then frowned. The air smelled different. Almost…smoky.

Fuck.

Tim turned back towards the door just in time to see it go up, a line of flame spreading across the entrance. And the other entrance was, of course, where that thing was. So it was less of a choice to die or not, and more of a choice how. 

“I’ve always been more of a fire guy,” Tim said, turning towards the flames. There had to be another way. Except no, there didn’t. It wasn’t that kind of story, and there was no legendary hero, waving a shining sword and coming in to save the day. At least with fire, it’d be quick. He took a step away from the Anglerfish.

Heard a shot ring out.

He spun around in time to see the thing writhing in pain, slinking back into the shadows at the far side of the warehouse. Another shot, and it backed away further. And in front of it, coming through the door—

That crazy detective, reloading her gun and firing again.

He threw one glance back at the fire, before running towards her. Maybe she’d kill him too, hell, maybe she was one of them. But if he was ranking deaths anyway, a bullet was beating immolation, so he might as well go for it. As he ran past, she kept her eyes trained on the monster, and fired another shot, before glaring at it hard. Even retreating, it seemed inclined to remain stubbornly alive. 

“Are you coming?” he shouted at her. Though why, he wasn’t sure. Not when she might be just another monster in disguise.

She didn’t answer, just holstered her gun, and walked out into the night without even sparing him a glance. Tim jogged to keep up.

“How did you know I was here? Were you following me?”

She gave him a sideways look, then rolled her eyes. 

“Suspicious bastard, aren’t you? No, I wasn’t bloody following you. Not worth my time.”

“So how did you know where I was?” 

“Your Archivist said you were in trouble. I was in the area. Simple as that.”

“What.” Jon had sent her? “How—” No, stupid question, he knew how.

“You want to know more, you talk to him,” she said.

They’d reached the road, empty except for a lone black car. The cop, Tonner, unlocked the door, got inside, and drove away without another word.

But that was fine. She wasn’t the one he needed to talk to.

* * *

When Tim got back to the Archives, Jon was waiting for him. Oh, it could’ve been a coincidence that he was there, just when Tim wanted to find him. But Tim had long stopped believing in chance, at least where spooks were concerned. 

So he didn’t bother to knock, didn’t give Jon the courtesy he absolutely didn’t deserve. Instead he walked up to Jon’s desk, and slammed his hands down.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

Jon jolted back, thrown out of whatever nightmarish reverie he’d been lost in. A few stray papers drifted to the floor, but Jon didn’t attempt to retrieve them, keeping his eyes fixed on Tim. Good. 

“You were in trouble, and I was doing what I could to help. Last I checked, a background in publishing and research doesn’t give you the required skills for a nascent career in monster hunting,” Jon said, already on the defensive. 

“I was scouting, not hunting.” No matter what Jon thought, he wasn’t that much of an idiot, to try to take these things on alone, not when they had the explosives to blow them sky high. Not intentionally, at least.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter—” Jon cut whatever he was going to say short, and took a deep breath. 

Tim didn’t give him a chance to finish whatever he was going to say. It was bullshit, whatever it was. 

“I can handle myself. And how the hell did you know where I was anyway? That crazy cop said you’d told her where to find me.” He just stared at Jon, doing some waiting of his own. Forcing Jon to say it, to admit it. He’d always been good at prodding people into reaction, knowing exactly where to press. He’d used to just use it to joke, laughing as Jon sputtered indignantly. It had always driven Jon mad, furiously complaining to Sasha. But now, now—

“I did tell her.” Jon stopped, like he thought that’d be enough, before wilting under Tim’s continued stare. “I just…knew. Like when I found you the last time.”

“And here I thought you’d stopped stalking me. But no, it’s even better now. Not just stalking, but stalking using your creepy powers. Maybe the last time was just a trial run, practice for the big event.” He laughed bitterly. “Well, fuck off. I don’t want your help.”

“What do you want?” Jon snapped. “Because you certainly seemed furious enough when I wasn’t doing anything before. I’m trying to make up for it.”

“Make up for what? For stalking me? For fucking off when I—when we needed you? For keeping secrets I needed to know?” Jon’s silence was answer enough, and Tim almost laughed again. “Some things you can’t fix. Sometimes, they’re just too broken.” 

Jon frowned, a stubborn line Tim knew too well creasing his brow. 

“I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you. Tim, you need to promise me, don’t do this alone. You don’t need to be alone.” The irritation, the anger dropped away. He stared down at his burned hand, the skin healed stretched and shiny, before continuing, almost pleading. “Your brother, it wasn’t—”

“Don’t you dare say it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t come here for platitudes. I came here to get you to leave me alone. We have a common enemy. That’s it.” His hands curled into fists, not sure if he wanted to lash out at Jon, or reach out. Even now, after all Jon had done. He was the only one Tim could trust. And fuck, he hated it. Hated that he needed Jon. Hated that part of him still wanted to forgive Jon. 

“Would you have died, if Daisy hadn’t been there?” Jon said. Tone as neutral as he could manage, but there was nothing neutral about that question.

It wasn’t quite the armor piercing question Jon hoped for. Tim just shrugged, and said, “Probably. They’d pinned me in. Think they had a fiery friend helping out.”

“The Desolation,” Jon said, looking down at this hand again. “I have some…experience, with them.”

“But for all I know, the crazy cop could’ve just as easily killed me too. I mean, she did a number on you.” He nodded towards the scar that still marred Jon’s neck. “She might’ve just slit my throat. She might still be toying with us.” Even as he said it, he knew it sounded paranoid, as bad as Jon had been, before he’d finally fled. But then, Jon had been right, hadn’t he? So maybe Tim was right. Better safe than sorry.

“Daisy had…other reasons, for acting as she did. And I think, well.” He fiddled with a pen, staring into the distance, like he was consulting whatever creepy power kept them all locked up here. “I don’t think Daisy’s human either. Not, not like you’re thinking. She’s, well. I think she belongs to the Hunt.”

“You know, I’d ask what the hell that was, but I’m not sure I care. So she’s a different kind of monster. How fun. And still just as likely to murder someone.”

“Unfortunately true.” Jon put his head in his hands. 

“It’s because you’re one of them, isn’t it?” Tim leaned forward, one hand on the desk, curious despite himself “That’s why she tried to kill you. To Hunt you.”

“I, well, I don’t think that’s strictly accurate.” He stopped under Tim’s glare, moving on. “Anyway, I—I understand your concerns. I won’t send Daisy again.”

“Good,” Tim said, pushing off the desk. His work here was done. 

But Jon wasn’t finished. When was he ever?

“But I would like to come myself.”

* * *

If there was one thing Tim could rely on, it was that Jon would never do what he wanted. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he hissed, eyes still fixed on the door of the rundown theatre. 

Jon, ever the social savant, edged closer until his body was pressed against Tim’s, tucked into the darkened alcove. 

“Helping,” Jon said, squinting into the dark. 

Tim snorted. “Oh, really? Because I thought you were fucking up my investigation. And being a creep on top of that. Did you just know I’d be here, too?”

Jon’s silence was all the answer he needed. Sure, he wasn’t Elias, or that monster that took Danny. But he still a spook, and an asshole to boot. Who wouldn’t be a damn bit of help here, far better suited to going through musty papers in the Archives, with no experience actually looking into anything unnatural. 

But he was also the only person Tim could trust.

“Fine, you want to help? I’m going to head around the back, see if there’s any activity. You stay here, keep an eye on things. That’s your specialty, isn’t it?” 

The satisfaction he gained from the way Jon’s lips tightened and his lack of response was petty, but damn it felt good. And who knew? Maybe Jon would even take a good hard look, and consider that maybe using his evil powers wasn’t a good idea after all.

“Very well. What should I do if I see something?”

“Text me.” He paused, turned back to Jon. “But make sure your mobile’s on silent. Wouldn’t want to interrupt the show.” He didn’t wait to see if Jon did it. If he didn’t, he probably deserved what was coming. 

As he made his way around the back of the theatre, he felt a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t like Tim had any official training, but he’d done a lot of in person investigations, knew the general lay of things, and the danger. Jon had proved time and again he was beyond reckless at the worst possible moments, prone to spurts of wild curiosity. Like a toddler in a candy shop, he’d run after the first scary monster without a care in the world, desperate to get his fix. 

With a sigh, he crouched down behind a bin, and pulled out his mobile, tapping out a message to Jon.

_Stay put. I don’t care how much you want to take the monster’s statement._

Barely seconds passed before a reply flashed on the screen.

_I’m not stupid, Tim. And I’ve had my fill of hearing how great a skin I’d make._

_But you made it out._ He typed it in, a bitter impulse. _You made it a month, and Danny didn’t. You didn’t do a damn thing right, but you were rescued. Because you’re one of them, and they know it._ His thumb hovered over the button, then drifted lower. The message disappeared, unraveling letter by letter. 

_Good._

He hit send, then peered around the edge of the bin. The door remained stubbornly shut, the night utterly placid. But Tim could wait. He’d been waiting for this for years, and he could wait a little longer. Whatever it took, however many places he had to scout, he’d find them, and send them back to whatever hell they came from. 

The minutes crept by, and he found himself pulling out his mobile again, staring down at the blank screen before angrily shoving it back in his pocket. Jon was a distraction, and Tim didn’t have time to worry about him. Settling back against the wall, he began to mentally go over all the places he’d checked, and the ones still left. 

It wasn’t as long a list as he’d liked, theatres and museums and the odd graveyard gleaned from combing through statements. At each, he’d spent days watching, rotating through them in the hopes that this time, he’d spot them. Whatever twisted form they were taking, he’d know it on sight, no matter how clever they thought they were being. But they’d all been a bust, and he knew he was running out of time. The world was running out of time. 

Against his better judgment, he reached for his mobile. Maybe Jon had found something. Maybe his creepy powers had actually been useful for once. Unlocked the screen, and there it was. Just one line.

_I saw something._

Tim typed out a response, telling Jon to stay put while he circled back towards him. The shadows were long, whatever lighting the theatre might’ve once had now fallen into disrepair. He just hoping these things couldn’t see in the dark. As he approached the spot he’d left Jon, he swore. Of fucking course he couldn’t stay put. He scanned the alcove for any sign, glancing at the door before shining the mobile’s torch on the ground. But there was nothing there, no sign of where Jon had went. 

“For once in your fucking life…” He scanned the area again, hoping for any clue. But it was hopeless.

Jon was gone.

* * *

It was only on his fourth time circling the theatre that he noticed the door was ajar, and the padlock open. He’d almost abandoned it as a lost cause after the third hopeless search of the area. After all, if Jon wanted to get himself killed, that was on him. And hell, he might have a better chance of surviving capture than Tim anyway. Though if he’d told Tim about his capture was true—

No. He wasn’t that far gone, to just leave Jon behind. 

He tossed the padlock and chain aside, and slowly pulled open the door, revealing a dark and empty theatre. Rummaging in his pocket, he pulled out the small torch he always carried now, and shined it inside. No sign of Jon, but no sign of any other monsters either. He’d take what he could get for now. As he inched his way slowly inside, swinging his torch side to side, he saw marks where the dust had been disturbed. Jon? Or one of the circus freaks?

Either way, that was where he was going.

The footsteps led to a door at the side, half off its hinges, and behind that down a set of uneven stone stairs, older looking than the theatre. That was just his luck, wasn’t it? Spooky theatre leading to an even spookier basement. Maybe the work of Smirke? But the style seemed wrong, more medieval. Well, he supposed it just wouldn’t do to have only the one creepy architect in London. 

“Once unto the breach,” he muttered, the words echoing oddly as he headed down the steps. 

The two paths diverged, because of course they did, and in this case, Tim was definitely going with the one more traveled, and hoping Jon hadn’t decided to be contrary like usual. The dust was gone down here, the air oddly damp, with no sign of which path Jon might’ve taken. The tunnel ended, and again the paths diverged. A maze, just like under the Archives. And maybe Jon could use his spooky powers to navigate, but Tim was stuck with only his wits, and he was already at their end. He needed to find Jon, the sooner the better. Maybe it’d get him killed, but it was better than wandering aimlessly.

“Jon!” The words had the same strange echo as before, but more muted, like he was underwater. “You asshole, where the hell did you go?”

Against all odds, he saw a flicker of light at the end of one of the passages, and above it a baggy brown jumper. Jon opened his mouth, probably to give some excuse for being such a reckless idiot, but then his eyes widened, and he pointed behind Tim. Whatever he said next was drowned out by the crash of stone, Tim jumping back only just in time as the tunnel collapsed where he’d been standing.

“Well, fuck.” How did this always happen to him? Oh, right. “You did it again. You did something reckless, and now here I am, paying for it.” The anger flared bright in his chest, a familiar feeling now, particularly where Jon was concerned. 

“That’s not fair, I was just investigating, I saw something odd, and I did text you—”

“From the tunnels? Did you check if it actually sent?”

The look on Jon’s face was answer enough. How the hell could so someone so smart be so stupid? 

“I didn’t think, I just got—”

“Curious, right? That’s always your problem. You just need to poke things, you can never leave anything alone, and then someone ends up dead.” He ignored the thrill of guilt in his chest, and the image of a different theatre that drifted across his mind. It wasn’t the same. He wasn’t the same. 

“Tim, I just—” 

No, that was enough. Jon let out a yelp of surprise as Tim shoved him hard against the wall, one arm across his throat while the other still clutched the torch. As he dug his arm in, Jon struggled weakly. But Tim couldn’t be arsed to care.

“Yes, you didn’t kill Sasha. Or Jurgen Leitner. Maybe they’re not even your fault. Elias, right? But you know how close Martin and I were to dying? And then you left us in the Archives, with Elias, and we had no idea he was a murderer. A monster. And you knew, didn’t you? Even before he confessed, you knew. But all you could do was run away, and then run off to find more clues, doing exactly what Elias said. Never thinking about how any of that might hurt someone else, because you don’t really think about anyone but yourself, do you?” While he’d talked, Jon had stopped struggling. Not that Tim was pressing hard enough to choke him. Just enough to shut him up. He pressed harder, and one of Jon’s hands came up to grip his wrist. Not shoving him away. Just holding him.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out. “You’re right.”

For a moment, fury flared higher, that Jon thought sorry counted for anything. But something shifted between them, as he looked into Jon’s eyes, bright here in the dark. Keeping his arm in place, he leaned in, and bit down hard on Jon’s lip, then swallowed down the small noise of pain as he kissed Jon. He didn’t try to be careful, inhaling his remaining breath, pushing deep with his tongue, all while Jon simply held on, fingers digging into his wrist, lips yielding under his. 

It was only when Jon began to tentatively kiss back that Tim came to his senses, and scrambled away. He stared at Jon with wild eyes, light shining on his face, catching on his reddened, shining lips, and Jon’s fingers, massaging his throat. His face was flushed, and he seemed to be having trouble meeting Tim’s eyes. Well, good. That was good.

“Don’t think that meant anything,” Tim snapped. “Let’s move.” 

Jon flinched at the words, and Tim’s stomach roiled, wave after wave of emotion he didn’t even understand anymore. But none of it mattered. They had to get out of here. They had to stop the Unknowing. He needed Jon as an ally, not a friend, not anything else. 

So he continued down the passage, and didn’t look back. If Jon didn’t follow, that was his problem.

* * *

The tunnels kept twisting, deeper and deeper into the earth, and Tim didn’t have a fucking clue where he was going. As he made another turn with no end in sight, he finally turned back, hoping Jon’s creepy powers would be useful for once. 

But Jon wasn’t there.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” How the hell had he wandered off again? Or gotten snatched by some spook. Also again. This was why Tim wanted to go alone. 

He considered turning back, on the slight hope Jon had stayed put, and Tim could figure out how to get back. But then an odd smell drifted past. Wetter than the air in the tunnels had been, and brackish, like a pool left undisturbed for too long. Water could be a very bad sign, but at least it was a sign of something besides the endless warren of tunnels. And if Jon had any sense at all, he’d head towards it as well.

Turning down another tunnel, and then swerving to the right, Tim found himself stepping into vast, empty darkness. From the way his footsteps echoed, it had to be some sort of cavern. He flicked his torch up, and it failed to penetrate the darkness. How deep had he gone? 

As he tilted the beam down, he saw it glint off something. The water. He approached it, swinging his light across the surface, trying to see if it went anywhere worth going, but like the ceiling, it stretched too far. But if it wasn’t too cold, it might be worth swimming, just to see if there was anything on the other side. He knelt down, and stuck his hand in.

The cold shot up his arm immediately, and he gasped, ears roaring. He couldn’t move, his hand sinking deeper as he leaned forward, staring into the depths. His whole arm submerged, and he reached out with the other, fingers brushing the surface, sinking to the elbow. His motion had disturbed the still surface, waves now rippling back towards his trousers, soaking his knees, his calves, his feet as he tried to pull out, and only fell further forward. As his face broke the surface, he tried to scream, the cold sinking into his bones, tried to struggle as it engulfed his back, but the water was impossibly deep, and he was falling, falling—

Arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him back, loosing their grip as he gasped and broke the surface. Again they grabbed, tugging at his shoulders to pull him further away. Jon, it was Jon, shouting at him. 

“—you bloody idiot, why the hell did you wander off, and I can’t believe after everything you know, you still touched the damn water—”

“Shut up,” Tim said, struggling to his feet, his eyes still fixed on the pool, even as he stumbled away, almost completely soaked. “Just, just shut up.” His heart pounded in his chest. If Jon hadn’t found him, he would’ve gone under, would’ve thrown himself into the dark, cold depths and never come out again. Never had a chance to avenge Danny, or to tell Elias to go fuck himself. Or to shout at Jon for being completely unhelpful yet again. Except he hadn’t been, had he? Well, not completely. 

“There was a statement like this, from Julia Montauk and Trevor Herbert, I think it’s the Dark—”

“Shut up.” 

This time, Jon actually listened. Turned out there really were miracles. Tim stared at the dark water, now completely still again. Like Tim had never been there at all, like it would’ve looked if Tim had fallen in. He crossed his arms over his chest, not just shivering, but shaking, completed soaked from his dunk in the pool. Not that Jon was much better off after pulling Tim out, hunched over and rubbing his hands up and down his arms, like that’d do anything with his shirt soaked through.

“I—I found something,” Jon said through chattering teeth. “Not—not a way out, but it might help now. Blankets.”

“You found blankets,” Tim said. “And I’m sure they’re totally normal blankets, not cursed in the least.”

“It wasn’t the blanket that killed Benjamin Hatendi. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” 

Fuck. He’d forgotten about that statement. Of course his stupid joke had a kernel of horrible truth to it, because that was his life now.

“Better getting eaten by a blanket that freezing to death.” He gestured at Jon. “Lead the way.”

Jon began to skirt the pool, and Tim followed, staring at his back, and trying to believe it was only his imagination the dark was reaching for him, still trying to drag him down.

* * *

Jon’s blankets turned out to be a lot closer to shrouds, in the end. Oh, they hadn’t technically been wrapped around corpses, but that was probably because Jon and Tim were exactly the soon to be corpses they were waiting for. No matter how often Jon repeated they were obviously ceremonial, and too fine to waste on burial. Clearly Jon didn’t have the faintest fucking clue how weird people got about their funerals. 

But in the end, Jon was right. It was the best they had, and it was better than freezing. In silent agreement they left the tomb to head back into the tunnel leading into it, neither of them eager to linger there, or near the pool. 

Once the stopped, Tim pulled off his shirt, laying it as carefully as he could on the ground. With the damp, it probably wouldn’t do much good, but it was better than nothing.

“What are you doing?” Jon said, stilling clutching the makeshift blanket to him, and probably dripping all over it. 

Tim toed off his shoes, and began to work on his trousers. 

“Stripping. Keeping wet clothes on is asking for hypothermia.” The trousers he laid on next to his shirt, followed by his boxers. Jon, he noticed, had turned away, began removing his own clothes. 

It wasn’t exactly comfort, wrapping his cold, naked body in the heavy silk cloth. But it was at least better than his wet clothes. He slumped down against one wall, and let his eyes fall shut for a moment. Just listening for anything, any sign of where to go, what to do. But all he heard was the wet slap as Jon laid his own clothes out, and the rustle of fabric when he settled next to Tim. 

“So,” Tim said, turning to look at Jon. “You get your batteries charged up now? You found us a way out?”

“What?” He looked quite pathetic, huddled in the cloth, visibly shaking from the cold. 

“You know, from seeing me almost die. You’re like some sort of creepy fear vampire. Feeding off other people’s pain and suffering. That should’ve given you a little boost, shouldn’t it?” Tim knew he was pulling this shit out of his arse, but it worth it for Jon’s reaction.

“That’s not how it works, it’s the statements, and I wouldn’t say—” He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not important. I think—that is, I’m not sure I can, down here.” He pointed to a carving above the tomb. A closed eye. “It’s the Dark. I think it’s the antithesis of Beholding, so—”

“You’re useless. Brilliant.” Tim pulled the cloth tighter, not that it was doing a lot against the cold. At this rate, he’d be dead before he got any warmer. He glanced at Jon, who if anything seemed to be doing worse. Christ, he didn’t want to do this. 

But he also didn’t want to die. Not yet.

“Fuck it,” he said, tugging at Jon’s makeshift blanket. “If we don’t share body heat, we’re both going to freeze, even with these.” He yanked at the cloth for emphasis. 

Jon just stared at him for a minute, then nodded slowly. “I do see your point. I apologize, it’s a bit…awkward, but if it’s necessary, it’s certainly better to deal with any potential discomfort than, well, freezing.” 

“Right.” Nervous babble didn’t merit more than that as a response. “Good thing these are huge. We’ll lay part on the floor, lie on top of that, cover ourselves with the rest.”

“Yes, that—that’s a good plan.” 

Tim was painfully reminded of why he’d always dealt with anything requiring social finesse. But it hardly mattered now. He laid his blanket down while Jon carefully averted his eyes, and then tugged Jon down next to him, wrapping them both in what was left. 

“Back to back?” 

“Oh, yes. Yes, good idea.” 

Jon inched closer, pressing his back against Tim’s. Chilled, but between the two of them, they should warm up. He hoped.

“We’ll just try to warm up. Then keep looking?” Jon said.

“Sounds like a plan, boss.” The words slipped out, almost friendly. He’d forgotten, for a moment, who he was with. Or no, that wasn’t true. He’d forgotten that Jon wasn’t the withdrawn, brilliant colleague he’d always liked, and was happy to go work for. Forgotten that Jon was a monster, who’d left Tim in the dark. 

He tugged the blanket closer, shut his eyes. And tried to forget again.

* * *

Tim woke to the feeling of a warm body squirming against him, and he unconsciously tightened his grip. Not the best night out, with a bed this hard, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t indulge in a bit more sleep, and maybe some fun after, with the way that arse was grinding against his cock. But it was weird, because he hadn’t gone out in months, and—

“That’s not helping,” Tim muttered, letting Jon go and turning away again. He must be lonelier than he thought, because this was just pathetic. Even counting the impulsive kiss from earlier. 

Jon tensed against his back, but stayed blessedly silent. They should probably get up, get moving. Their clothes wouldn’t be dry, but they could aways use the cloths as makeshift togas. Better than nothing, at least. But for just a minute longer, Tim wanted to pretend none of this shit was real. That his life wasn’t on a downward spiral towards the end. That Jon wasn’t the one here with him. 

“I could help, if you want.” 

“Oh, now you know the way out? How convenient. Well, just give me—”

“No, no. No, I just meant with, you know…” He shifted, one hand tentatively resting on Tim’s waist. 

“Do you really think I’m that desperate?” Sure, he was a bit desperate, not like he’d gotten any in a while. But not desperate enough to fuck Jon, of all people. “Or is this the most pathetic attempt yet to say sorry?” 

“Fine,” Jon said. “Forget I said anything.” 

The worst thing was, now that Jon had brought it up, Tim was actually considering it. Getting the reach around from his boss just might be the final absurdity he needed to cap this fucked up day. 

“You know what?” Tim said. “Sure. Whatever you want.” 

He ground his arse back against Jon’s to really get the point across, and was gratified to feel Jon freeze in response, before putting the hand back on Tim’s waist, slowly sliding towards his still half-hard cock. 

His fingers were cold, and Tim hissed when they wrapped around him, sliding up and down his skin, grip too loose to do anything but tease. He wrapped his hand around Jon’s, tightening his grip, and to Jon’s credit, he was a fast learner. Rough and fast, just how Tim liked it. 

It was easier, with Jon behind him, quiet and unseen. He could almost pretend it was anyone, an old boyfriend, some faceless stranger—

Jon’s hand slipped free as Tim jerked away, terror throwing jagged spikes into his chest. He turned over to face Jon, meeting his shocked look, staring down every infuriating inch of him. Even as his heart continued to hammer in his chest, the fear eased under Jon’s clinical scrutiny, the surge of irritation felt at seeing him again. 

“I need to see you.” 

To Tim’s surprise, Jon didn’t say anything, just nodded and reached for Tim’s cock again, the angle more awkward, but still better than anything Tim’d had in a long time. Keeping his eyes locked on Jon, he reached for Jon’s own cock, giving it a tug. Too hard, but from the hitch in Jon’s breath, he was kind of into it. After the the choking, it kind of figured, didn’t it? Kinky bastard. Pity he was such an asshole. Tim began to pump at Jon’s cock, faster and faster, marking every little gasp, the way his control broke down under Tim’s touch. How human he looked like this, face twisted half in pain, half in pleasure. 

When Jon came, it was a shock. Tim had barely done a damn thing, and it wasn’t like Jon was some horny teenager. For a moment, Jon stopped, hand simply resting on Tim’s cock, skin coated in his own come. Then he began to stroke again, eyes opening to meet Tim’s, flushed skin far more appealing than Tim ever would’ve guessed. He gave Tim the same look he got when puzzling through a statement, that small crease between his brow. Tim had thought it was cute, once. Maybe that was why he gave into the impulse to lean in and kiss Jon as his balls tightened, coming into Jon’s hand, onto his bare skin. 

With anyone except Jon, this part would be easy. Even Martin would probably handle it better, easy enough to steer out of awkward stuttering. But Jon just avoided the inevitable conversation entirely, wiping his hand carefully on a clean scrap of cloth, then clearing his throat. Still staring at the cloth. 

“I know the way out,” Jon said, actually smiling when he met Tim’s eyes. And fool that he was, Tim almost smiled back.

“I knew I was good, but I didn’t know I was that good.” 

“No. No, it’s this symbol.” He traced the closed eye embroidered into the cloth. “I saw it…” He stood, wrapping himself awkwardly in the now rather dirty cloth, striding back into the tomb. And what could Tim do but gather up their still wet clothes and follow? That said something about his life right there. 

In the back of the tomb, Jon was studying the wall, fingers running over the stone while Tim shone a light on it, trying to see whatever the hell it was Jon was looking for. He found it just as Jon did, the same symbol carved into stone.

“This is where the spikes shoot out and kill us both.” 

Jon ignored him, pushing against it, and proving Tim’s prediction incorrect as the wall opened in front of them, and behind it, a set of stairs going up. 

“Not the best concealed secret lair, is it?” 

“It’s probably only intended to keep people out.” Jon began to head up the stairs, stopping as his wet shirt slapped against the back of his head. “Was that necessary?” 

“Absolutely,” Tim said with complete sincerity. “Unless you want the awkwardest Uber ride ever. I mean, I can’t say I haven’t been there…”

“Right,” Jon said. “You make a good point, as unpleasant as the prospect is. At least with clothing, we can always say we fell in a river.”

The ascent that followed was silent except for their footstep. More than once, Tim almost said something. Anything, to stir up the odd peace that had settled between them. He wanted to kick himself, for falling for it. One clumsy handjob in a creepy maze didn’t make up for anything. Neither did saving his life, not when Jon had dragged him down there in the first place. 

As they finally emerged, his eyes caught on a poster nailed to a nearby gate. The same posted he’d seen before, another clue, another trap. A breeze caught it, peeling it off like old skin.

“You said they wanted to skin you…would another Archivist do?”

“I don’t know.” Jon stopped on the pavement, giving Tim a quizzical frown. “But Gertrude was cremated regardless.”

“You’re sure?”

Jon frowned, and slowly shook his head. “Perhaps you’re right. It can’t hurt to check.”

“But…tomorrow,” Tim aid. He peered into the sun, just peeking above the horizon, catching on the poster now drifting away down the road. 

Tim stood next to Jon, their shoulders brushing, waiting for the Uber Jon had ordered. It didn’t fix anything. Not even close. But as Jon looked at him again, the faint trace of a smile on his lips, Tim found himself leaning in anyway, pushing Jon against the gate, biting his lip and seeking the warmth of his mouth. Finding what comfort he could in the devil he knew.


End file.
